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Reacher looked at the booth. He couldn’t see inside. The glass was mirrored. Maybe no one was there. Maybe the fire alarm protocol required the guard to assist with the evacuation on the other side of the prison. Or maybe the guard was still at his post, waiting for some kind of signal. Something Reacher didn’t know about. Something he had to do or the guard would raise the alarm. Reinforcements would come from behind, Reacher thought. Through the warehouse. Heavily armed. He checked the mirror. The roll-up door was still closed. For the moment.

The outer gate didn’t move.

Reacher’s foot was on the brake. He was thinking about shifting it to the gas pedal. There was no point trying to smash through the gate. It would be too strong. Designed to stop a much heavier vehicle. With a run up. Not from a standing start. Reacher had no doubt about that. But he figured he could cause a dent. Get some of the truck’s metal in contact with the mesh or the frame. Then he could open the van’s back door. The cargo space was fitted with shelves. He had seen them when he was getting Begovic situated. He could tear a couple out. Use them to connect the rear of the van to the inner fence. Maybe cause a short circuit. Maybe kill the power for long enough to climb over. If he could find something to cover the razor wire.

The outer gate didn’t move.

Reacher looked down. There were mats on the floor. In both foot wells. They were made of rubber. Heavy duty. Made to protect the vehicle’s floor from boots soaked with Mississippi rain. And thick enough to save a person from getting cut to ribbons. Maybe. There was only one way to find out. Reacher started to lift his foot. Then he stopped. And pressed down again for a moment.

The outer gate twitched. It shuddered. Then it lurched to the side.

—

Begovic switched from the cargo area to the passenger seat when they were a safe distance from the prison but he didn’t say a word on the rest of the drive to Bruno Hix’s home. He pressed himself back against his seat and stayed completely still apart from his eyes, which were constantly flicking from one side to the other. Reacher didn’t speak, either. He didn’t want to tell Begovic there was a kid waiting for him at the house until they were close. He didn’t want to give him the chance to think about it too much. To freak out. But at the same time Reacher didn’t feel right making meaningless small talk when he was holding back such a significant piece of information. The farther he drove, the less sure he felt about the choice he’d made. Then all of a sudden he was very glad he’d made no mention of Begovic’s kid.

There were two vans parked outside Hix’s house. One was white with Illinois plates. It looked to be a few years old. It showed plenty of signs of having lived a hard life and it was sitting at the side of the road. The other van was black. It had Mississippi plates. It looked new. Shiny. It was in great shape. All the way from its rear fender to its windshield. But its wings and hood and nose were ruined. Someone had used it to ram Hix’s gates. Hard. It had shoved them open maybe four feet.

Reacher pulled over behind the white van. He told Begovic to stay put even if he heard noises from the house. He climbed out. He had the tan SIG in his hand. He checked both other vehicles’ cabs and cargo areas. There were no people. Then he made his way through the gap in the gates, across the drive, past the VW, and up the steps.

—

The front door was open. Reacher peered into the hallway. He could see no one. He could hear nothing. He crept inside. Headed left, toward the kitchen. Where he had left Hix and Brockman and Carpenter, tied up and immobile.

The room was empty.

Reacher didn’t care too much about the Minerva guys. But he was worried about Hannah and Jed.

He could see two possibilities. Whoever had arrived in the vans had a third vehicle, which they used to abduct everyone from the house. Or everyone, including the hostiles, was still in the house or on the grounds.

Reacher favored the second option. The first would involve a very large vehicle. It would need to hold a minimum of eight people. And it made no sense to abandon the white van. It looked serviceable and the back was crammed with all kinds of specialized tools and equipment.

There was a sound in the next room. A creak. It was quiet. It happened just once. But Reacher had definitely heard something. He crept to the door. Listened. Heard nothing else. Took hold of the handle. Jerked the door open. And jumped back to avoid getting hit by a guy who tumbled onto the floor, at Reacher’s feet.

It was Maurice. The journalist.

Reacher said, “The hell are you doing in there?”

Maurice said, “Hiding. Waiting for you. What took you so long?”

“Where are the others? Hannah? The kid?”

“Out back. I think.”

“You think?”

“I think they all are.”

“All?”

“Hannah. The kid. Hix and Brockman. Carpenter. And two new guys.”

“From Minerva?”